


Shadows Cast Down From the Rhine

by CaptainSaltyMuyFancy



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Backstory, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mild Gore, Missing Scene, POV Agron, POV First Person, Spartacus didn't know waging a war would require him to become a mediator, Unreliable Narrator, Welcome to the exhausting field of Conflict Resolution Sparty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27127870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSaltyMuyFancy/pseuds/CaptainSaltyMuyFancy
Summary: As the shadows of an ancient hatred creep from Gallia and Germania down to the foot of Vesuvius, Spartacus must lead his people through a new hazard: the cavernous distance between freedom of mind and comfort of group memory.
Relationships: Agron & Crixus, Agron & Lucius, Agron & Spartacus, Agron/Nasir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

The rebels fighting under Spartacus's leadership have much in common: we share a purpose, a home, a family, and a Roman death sentence. It is not our lives today that sow the deepest seeds of contention: it is all that came before. Even so far from home, ancient rivalries can bleed through scabbed-over wounds and darken modern ground with fresh crimson puddles. We almost learned this the hard way.

The night I returned from the scouting mission to Neapolis, I had been unable to relay all the details to Nasir due to a momentary crisis. Nasir and I had broken evening meal together and I told him what highlights of the mission I could think of off top of my head, as had become our ritual whenever duties called me from the temple. I was telling him how we cut through a barn to avoid the road on the way to Neapolis, and Donar had silently felled a Roman shit as we passed; only to almost get his leg broken after tripping over a particularly ornery mule.

"I told you not to cut through occupied lands," Nasir had grumbled.

"It was worth all risk, to see Donar run from ass like fucking child."

We finished taking meal and returned to our duties, as was our nightly routine--a routine broken by Mira's hand dealing Chadara's death as she tried to sneak away with our map and coin. I had aided Nasir in giving his friend of more than fifteen years a brief funeral and cremation, and after burying her ashes at the foot of a shade tree Nasir said she had come to favor, we retired to our quarters.

It was the next evening, when he was seeking distraction from thoughts of the day before, that he inquired as to the rest of the details of our mission.

"The ship is coming from my homeland, actually,” said I, “The one we plan to liberate in Neapolis."

"Really?"

"The gods showed us much favor that day," I pressed a sloppy, squeaky kiss to his temple, "We would've been fucked had we missed announcement of its passage: the only other two ships meeting our criteria are from Gaul and Damascus; not viable options."

"How so?"

"Enslaved Gauls are not all warriors, they can be anything from vagrants to farmers to merchants--and their warriors are on the upper end of mediocre at best. And they will not follow any but their own kind, as the Gauls with whom we took your old villa would only follow Crixus. A fact of which the fucking Gaul took advantage, and made securing resources and shoring our position that much harder. We need warriors who will follow Spartacus in service of common goal. Not to mention Gaul warriors are obnoxious and crude, and spend more time drinking and fucking and throwing their cocks about than preparing for battle."

I stretched out and unbound the cord that held his braid so as to run fingers through hair, always knowing just where to tug on the leather so it came loose with ease. A skill I learned from looking upon him memorizing every feature, every color, every line, every texture, every play of light.

"Damascus has some of the same problems," I resumed, "In my experience, Damascus is the main point through which debtors and prisoners are trafficked from all around Syria and her neighbors to be sold into slavery. Most of them are criminals, not warriors--they make poor fighters and cannot be trusted. At least such was the make-up of the Damascus ships that came through when I was in Gallia and Neapolis previously.” Both were days of which I did not care to speak, unwilling to open the casket of memory and face the carrion within. I babbled to push the past back, “Perhaps it is different for other cities in the region like Antioch, but that seems to be the type of fighting-age men Damascus slavers specialize in.

"But all Germans are warriors, from children to elders. War is our way of life. If a man from east of the Rhine breathes, he is a warrior. There are some in our lands who dwell in cities and live more sedentary lives, though they still know how to fight. But many are from free-roaming war tribes like my brother and I, and the majority of Germans taken to be slaves were captured warriors. We do not trust easily but we are fiercely loyal to anyone who earns our respect. They will follow Spartacus to the underworld and back. Not to mention my Gaulish is poor and I know nothing of the tongues of Damascus. The same goes for all among our number, as far as I know. Had we the ability, it would be ideal to take all the ships so that we may have more fighters to train, but such is not a possibility right now, and quality is better than quantity."

"Hm," said Nasir, tracing the outline of the scar over my heart, "You glow like the sun with this. It warms my heart to see you so full of excitement and hope."

We fell into a long and decadent kiss. "You are the reason," I said breathlessly when our lips just barely separated.

"Oh? I thought it was promise of more warriors."

"It is you who gives me reason to breathe, to stand and keep fighting. To finally be of use to Spartacus and the cause is a promising new direction, but it is you who moves me in pursuit of greater purpose, and in all things."

"I-" he swallowed and blinked away tears, "I have no words..."

"Is that a good thing?" I tried to ignore the sudden anxiety thrumming in my chest.

"Yes," he laughed, grabbing me by the ears and pulling me to him for another long kiss, "it is a good thing."

I fell to slumber quickly with the feeling of his warm body so full of life pressed against me. I do not know how he slept, but it was not well, by the look of exhaustion on his face when he came to me out in the courtyard the next morning.

"Agron," Nasir called to me just as Spartacus, Donar, Lucius, and I passed the threshold of the temple gate. I turned around and jogged over to him.

"Apologies for waking you," I said as I squeezed his elbows and rubbed his chilled arms, crossed upon his chest. 

"You did not," said he, "I was awake but...I feared saying goodbye." I quirked head in inquiry and he released a shaky breath as he explained, "I do not know how many times we can part before the gods see fit not to lead us back to each other's arms alive and safe."

I knew the truth of his words all too well, that we were damned men fighting a war against an enemy whose power was second only to that of the gods. But I would not supplement his worry and despair. "Nor do I. But today is not that day. I promise you."

"You cannot promise such a thing," he admonished.

I could not help but smirk, already far too pleased with what I planned to say. "I already have." 

A light punch at Nasir’s back signaled Donar's approach. "Save tenderness for his return,” he said to my heart, “he will be too soft if you coddle him now."

"Bring him back to me alive and intact," Nasir threatened Donar half-jokingly.

"You can have one or the other, but not both."

"Alive _and_ intact, or I'll have your fucking balls _and_ shaft." The three of us broke out in laughter and it felt like a betrayal, to giggle and smile while the curtain of uncertainty and dread yet laid heavily upon us.

I playfully shoved Donar away and turned back to Nasir. My lover fell into my chest and held his body tightly to mine. Without looking up he said, "Come back to me, you smug fuck."

"I promise," I swore on a whisper. We kissed, and I fought back tears as I departed, feeling his eyes upon me as the four of us disappeared around the temple wall.

“A fortunate thing,” said Spartacus as our new recruits surged around us, “that we liberate a ship filled with _your_ people.” The ship was taken, my countrymen freed, all were committed to our movement, and no casualties. Fortunate was a fucking understatement. There was something strange in his voice and gaze, but I was too euphoric to care.

"The gods favor us," I told the Thracian, clapping his upper arms, "No longer will we have to listen to those fucking Gauls again." Finally we would have an army, a true army, full of competent and experienced warriors who understood strategy, who cared for their comrades, who respected their commander. We would integrate my kin into our ranks and set upon more ships, villas, slave markets, ludii, caravans. We would finally draw blood from Rome, not simply nip at her heels like ill-trained dogs. Finally I could avenge Duro. Finally I could make Duro, Spartacus, and Nasir proud. Finally I could carve a path for Nasir toward a real life. If the gods' favor continued, and if he would have me, I would set upon it with him.

We fled the city on foot, sneaking through alleys in groups and taking advantage of any cover we could find. We managed to avoid all but one patrol, this one on the edge of the city. Our success in going undetected had made us sloppy, and we nearly collided with the backs of five Roman shits. My kin were upon them before Spartacus could even give silent command. The biggest one, Sedullus was his name, had snapped the necks of two of them in the crooks of his massive arms, while a blond woman called Saxa slit one's throat (to this day I remain unsettled that I do not know from where she got the dagger that dealt killing blow), a short but stocky man called Lugo strangled the next, and a copper-haired man of average build (average for men in Rome, at least, for he was small by German standards) named Nemetes smashed the last one's head against a sharp edge of exposed cobblestone. All five were dead in the blink of an eye, snuffed out like a lit candle in wake of Jupiter's breath.

Spartacus could not suppress a chuckle as he shook his head in marvel. We made for the forest outside the city, traveling south east toward Pompeii. Vesuvius was about halfway's distance between Neapolis and Pompeii, so we would return to the temple around mid-late afternoon if we marched with purpose. Navigating in the woods was more difficult due to the rain and heavy clouds that choked the sun, and I was concentrating on keeping us going in the right direction.

"Agron!" Spartacus barked to get my attention, "One of our new comrades would break words." He had nodded at the blond woman, Saxa.

" _Why do you carry the Roman grandfather with you? He takes up space and slows us down and leers at the women._ "

" _He is a comrade and a friend to us, and he will be treated with respect_ ," said I. Skin crawled to defend a fucking Roman to one of my own people, but Lucius had earned a place among us, and hierarchy needed to be established before my kin got inflated ideas of their place in our ranks, " _I know he made poor comment when talking with the slaver, but he was simply playing the part of a buyer so as not to arouse suspicion. I have never noticed him to behave so around the women at camp, but if he does, you have my blessing to do with him what you would_."

" _I don't need your fucking blessing and if he so much as looks at me again, I'll make him eat his own cock._ "

"What does she say?" Spartacus asked.

"Er..." I was never adept at translating, and even less so at diplomatic speak, "She expresses discomfort with Lucius's words about women back on the ship. Lucius, do not look at her."

"I understand," Lucius replied, "though I would make apology for discomfort."

"It would be the last thing you try to do," said I. Apologies were poorly-regarded in our culture. Every man must own his actions. To make effort to apologize was to show weakness and laziness, to imply that one would seek to avoid facing the consequences of their decisions over confronting them like a warrior. Not to mention Saxa would not appreciate any contact with the Roman right now, no matter how pure his intentions. "Keep your distance and she will see truth in time."

Donar and I changed words between Spartacus, Lucius, and our kin as we traversed the woods many yards from the road. It was the most direct path back to Vesuvius, but we would be too exposed on the road itself. It was just as well, for this was our element: nothing but comrades at our side and the forest floor at our feet.

For a moment, I felt as though I was back home, and I wondered if the past few years--capture, hard labor, transport across the sea, earning the mark, spilling blood in the arena, escaping the ludus, losing Duro, finding Nasir--had been a dream, that I was still a free-roaming warrior in the lands east of the Rhine. And though I would have given nearly anything for Duro to yet be among the living, I could not bear the thought that Nasir had never been in my life. Thankfully it was a momentary lapse, and I regained senses before panic set in.

A hand on my shoulder drew me from my thoughts. "Well done, brother," said Spartacus, "Your efforts put us upon the precipice of growth. Soon we shall stand a proper army, and Glaber and his fucks will crumble at the sight of us."

Finally there was hope upon his face. Finally I had done something besides inconvenience and shame him. The rest of the fucks back at camp I couldn't give half a shit about, except for Nasir, of course. I couldn't wait to pass through the temple gate and lay eyes upon him, and for him to see our new recruits and maybe feel the same hope in his heart that he gave mine.


	2. Chapter 2

" _Come!_ " Lugo bellowed before our comrades in German as we returned to the temple, " _Let us embrace and call ourselves brothers!_ "

My kin poured into the temple courtyard and surveyed their new home, as their new comrades surveyed them. Already my cheeks hurt from grinning and chuckling like a fool.

"You've done the impossible," said Nasir as he bounded down the portico steps. He met me halfway, his grin enormous, obsidian eyes glimmering, exuding beauty and life as though he had been forged in the temple by the hands of Venus herself. I giggled like a madman and held out my arms before him like a worshipper before a god. Through wide smiles, we kissed and I caressed his face with both hands before meeting his warm embrace. He could not throw his left arm around my shoulders for pain of wound, so he clutched himself tight to me by the hem of my shirt and snaked his right arm around my neck. Burying nose in the corner between his neck and his shoulder, I breathed deep of his long, silken hair and closed eyes. This was what it was all for: that he could be safe and happy, that he had reason to smile and hope, that he could be free, that we could be free together.

" _Eh_ ," said Sedullus, nudging me with his massive, meaty fist, which I would have like to tear from fucking arm for disturbing us, " _We must lift cup_."

I kept one arm across Nasir's shoulders as I turned to speak to the beast. " _We have only water_ ," I replied. Sedullus looked at me as though I spoke the words in another tongue and not in German.

" _It's for the best_ ," said Nemetes, " _Sedullus is a beast when sober, and a beastly fool when turned to drink!_ "

" _Little Nemetes..._ " said Sedullus, wrapping an arm around the much shorter man's shoulders, " _...speaks fucking truth!_ " The whole camp roared with laughter. Or at least the whole German section of our camp.

I pulled Nasir tightly to me and patted his shoulder closest to me, " _This man is Nasir: one of our strongest warriors and my heart_ ," I squeezed his shoulder as I spoke, " _Only a few weeks of training and already he's slain dozens of Romans and survived sword to gut, branded with blade put to fire to mark his courage and strength_."

Germans are a boasting people, judging ourselves and each other by our battle prowess and making sure all our kin know it. Part of it is to tell your story: your battles are who you are, your war stories are your biography. Bragging of your achievements in combat is the equivalent of giving your name. The other part, of course, is that Germans are a simple people. Not necessarily in intellect, but in worldview. We live for the tribe--our family--and our tribe lives for us. Those who are strongest are the most capable of protecting the tribe, and therefore deserve the most respect and independence. If one's strength is not made clear upon first meeting, the tribe will be reticent to take them seriously. I did not know these people well, I did not know how they treated the lowest of their tribes back home; if they perceived Nasir to be the lowest among us, I did not know how he would be treated. It was important that he was immediately given the recognition he deserved, and the position and protection it afforded.

"Nasir," I said as I turned to him, "this is our kin." His eyes grew as wide as coins at the words-- _our kin_. He had never had kin before, but he would now. The only family he ever knew being Chadara and the fractured memories of a brother, and I hoped our new arrivals could ease the pain of Chadara's loss. 

We all took time to introduce ourselves individually, embrace, converse and get everyone acquainted with the camp and its expectations. Nasir made effort to speak with all of them, with myself or a few of the others who understood common tongue translating. They seemed taken with his wit, fire, and charm, and the sight of him building bonds with my countrymen made me happier than I could ever remember being.

Not wanting to take my eyes off them for a moment, I stayed with them the entire afternoon, assigning them duties, exchanging banter, speaking of home as much as broken heart allowed. We had arrived in mid-afternoon, and the rest of the day passed quickly. Spartacus loomed on the portico much of the afternoon, probably watching our new recruits to gauge skill and demeanor. Sometimes I felt his gaze linger upon me, but I assumed it was because he was studying the person I was speaking with. Naevia, Mira, Oenomaus, the gladiators, and the former house slaves came by throughout the day to introduce themselves and bid our new comrades welcome, though many of them were hesitant. I couldn't blame them; the sight and sound of multiple Germans would likely be intimidating for those who had never encountered such a thing before.

I never expected the fucking Gaul to make introduction, and he did not. He sat upon ass on the top steps of the portico all afternoon, glaring at us and moving only to spar with Naevia or break words with Spartacus, Oenomaus, and Lucius. Spartacus never came around, which surprised me, but he had little free time and I knew there was much he yet wanted to do today.

When chores were done and dusk fell, we built a large fire in the courtyard and cooked meat in celebration. The whole camp joined us and for the first time, we felt like a true army instead of a mess of renegade slaves. We felt like a tribe.

Nasir was made to tell the story of how he got his wound, which I translated, and our kin were ignited by the harrowing ordeal. He had to show his scar, of course, for which they cheered, according to our customs and values. The only thing that could have made it feel more like home would be if Duro had been there. He would have loved to be among our own people again. He would have loved Nasir.

" _Hey_ ," said Saxa, nudging Nasir's arm, " _you need to fix your hair. Here_ ," she sat behind him, undid the leather binder, and set about combing through Nasir's hair with her fingers. I noticed her fingernails were filed into a dagger-like points, as were all the other women's, and it made it easier for her to pull through the tangles and knots. " _You waste your beautiful hair by keeping it so plain. Your hair is who you are, it's supposed to tell your story and show your prowess in battle. You_ ," she barked at me, " _Stop pampering him! He's a warrior, not a prized concubine!_ "

" _He's not pampered_ ," I snapped before recovering myself, " _He simply cleans himself every now and then, you grubby fucking ditch slug_." The Germans roared with laughter, Saxa included, and Nasir and many others absent knowledge of German laughed at the boisterous display. I translated our exchange (though I curated it carefully so as not to make Nasir uncomfortable in front of the entire camp), which brought a new round of laughter.

Crudeness is our way of life; most of us are forest wanderers, unrestrained in all things from movement to speech, free of the arbitrary and oppressive rules of etiquette that plague the "civilized" peoples surrounding us. Insults and harsh words are not inherently of offensive nature, they are but neutral tools of speech. The aristocratic Gauls, the advanced Romans, the religious Celts, the noble Greeks, and so on all have complex rules of interaction that carried over into our movement, leading to frequent miscommunications and offenses taken where they did not exist. I hoped the Germans could avoid such incidents by making it clear to all that harsh language was simply our nature.

"Lugo people put grass they hairs," said Lugo, "No, no, you do wrong," he scolded Saxa as he left the meat in the charge of one of the other men, a slender thing with long knotted hair.

"Mine used beads of stone or wood," said Donar. I was surprised to hear him speak on this, as he had fewer and darker memories of our homeland. He only spoke German when absolutely necessary, and seemed content to forget he had ever lived east of the Rhine. He could not even recall his true name, clinging instead to the one the Romans forced upon him. " _My father had two beads knotted into his hair on both sides of his head. My mother, three of wood on one side, and on the other, two of stone and one of wood._ "

"The beads were for victories?" Nasir asked.

"Probably. I do not know, I was young when I left home..." he trailed off a moment before pointing to me, "This one had knots and rags in his hair when he came to our ludus."

'Came' was not the word I would have used. More like 'dragged in chains'.

Nasir turned to me and ran his fingers through my hair, scratching my scalp with his fingernails. They were no longer the smooth, manicured nails of a body slave, but not yet the blunt and worn nails of a warrior; they were chipped and jagged from his intermittent training, and it was all I could do not to rub against his hand like a fucking dog.

"Your hair was long once?" my lover asked.

I wanted to tell him it had been long most of my life, and even longer than when Donar and I first met. But tonight was for celebration, unfit for reminiscences of loss and shame.

"Back then it reached about here," I said as I gently pinched his jaw. He swatted me away, giggling and making my heart do strange and wonderful things in my chest.

" _Agron, keep your damn hands off your man a moment and bring more boar_ ," Lugo called from the fire as he hung the last remaining strips on the spit.

" _Fine, fine,_ " said I, "I am for more meat, I shall return shortly."

"Need you aid?" Nasir asked as I stood up.

"No no, I will be fine. Besides, I do not think our new friend is finished with you yet," said I of Saxa, who was deep in concentration braiding Nasir's hair. Nasir nodded with a smile and patted my thigh as I passed. 

I made my way to cellar stairs and was about to descend, but the sight before me caught my eye: dozens of my people, a people I had scarcely seen since Duro and I were taken from our home, seated around a cooking fire as we always did in our lands. In the middle of them, the man I loved more than life itself, laughing and learning our tongue as he attempted conversation, already accepting of our boisterous spirits and brusque ways. Around them were our comrades, our friends, fellow rebels who would fight the power of Rome at our side. The world did not seem so dark a place then, our doom not so impending and Rome not so threatening. We were a family, and I was proud to have been able to helped bring us together. Our strange tribe of rebels, defiant in our joy even as the world around us burned.

I was carving up the last boar we had salted in the cellar when I heard someone approach behind me. I turned to see Spartacus and grinned like a fool, pointing to the hanging carcass with my knife as I spoke, "The last of our meat. I forgot how much my kin devour upon a sitting."

Spartacus did not share my enthusiasm, and even seemed angry. His jaw was set tight, lips pursed, and eyes boring into me like daggers. "Much seems to have slipped mind of late," he said cooly, his forcibly-calm voice and pointed expression setting me at unease.

I did not understand at first, I thought perhaps he had come to quietly gripe about Mira always hanging on him or the Greeks being hostile again (apparently Thracians and Greeks did not get along, or perhaps our Greeks simply did not care for Spartacus, since they favored the company of Gauls) or some other petty but no less frustrating grievance, as he sometimes did. It took a moment to realize his ire was aimed at me. Even longer to divine the source of his anger with me. At first I thought it was still about my lie regarding Naevia's fate in the mines, but that had not seemed to bother him since they returned from that shit hole. Then I remembered; his terse words back on the slave ship in Neapolis, his coldness and distance as he watched the Germans learn the lay of the camp... But it did not make sense. The very clear fact that they were here now was proof that I had not failed in my charge.

I frowned and turned away from the meat to face him. "...You sent me to scout Neapolis and report on opportunity. Their ship provided it."

"Were there any others," he bit out, "that may have afforded the same?"

It was not that he believed I failed my duty, then. He was simply unhappy that we had liberated Germans.

"Two. One from Damascus. The other Gallia."

"News I would have cared to know."

"Men from Damascus are of low quality and even lower trust," I chuckled, remembering the puny vagrants and the slimy criminals shipped from Damascus's prisons to Rome's shores.

"And Gallia?"

Gallia. Of course fucking Gallia. He did not see the way the Gauls were holding our cause back before, and I was fool to think he would see it now.

"...I would not have these ranks filled with Gauls," said I. I did not fucking like them, this is undeniable. And if it were a matter of equal choice between the three ships, why should I not pick my own people over fucking Gauls? But it was not an equal choice, there was only one opportunity that had the most potential for return on our investment: the ship packed to the brim with stocky German warriors, every last one reared on blood and steel and ready to lay down their lives for any leader worthy of respect. There was no guarantee that all of the Gauls on the ship, if any, would be warriors. Even if they were, they would only follow Crixus, who had proved to be more than happy to use that to his advantage. I tried to explain this to Spartacus, but he was not interested. "Crixus-"

"-is an _honorable_ man," our leader snarled.

I could not help but audibly gasp, the weight of his words and his voice hitting me in the chest like a blow from a war hammer. Did he truly think so low of me? Did he truly think me dishonorable for choosing to liberate Germans over Gauls? Did he truly think that I would deceive him on purpose just to recruit my own people to our cause? Why would he suspect such a thing of me? I had lied once before, certainly, but only because he left me no other choice! Did he think lying was simply my nature? Toward what purpose did he think I wished to deceive him?

And he would compare me against fucking CRIXUS?! Crixus, who refused to join our cause and would have seen all of us either fall or remain slaves forever?! Crixus, who refused to aid our cause even when he was using our resources and rampaging through Capua absent strategy beyond saving the woman he himself doomed to suffering?! Crixus, who hoarded 'his men', half our fucking number, and used them to leverage our actions in favor of his interests alone?! I could not claim to be a man of any great honor, nor did I hold delusions of doing so. But at least I fought for our cause, and made sacrifices for the greater good! All that whining fuck did was sit around, eat our food, drink our water, and shit on all of our plans to grow our movement! And yet between the two of us, _I_ was the dishonorable one?! My head was swimming so dizzyingly that I could not even begin to form reply, stomach sick, cheeks heating up, and eyes watering from anger and hurt.

"I will take your brothers to hunt when day breaks, to replenish supply. And gauge how we might come together," Spartacus continued, "And tell those who are able to speak in _common tongue_. So all among us may know their thoughts."

So that was his concern: he thought that he could trust neither me nor my kin. He thought we would break words not meant for our leader's ears, the only purpose for which could be to conspire against him. I knew I was trembling, but I did could do nothing to hide it. My lips were drawn tightly shut, my throat was constricting, chest throbbing, lungs shrinking, and it felt as though my entire body was collapsing in on itself. 

"They will prove great asset," I forced out as he turned to leave, "I give you my word."

He but glared back at me in silence for a moment before continuing out, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I watched him as he left, then returned to my charge as though nothing had happened.

Back in the courtyard, I passed the tray of freshly-cut meat off to Lugo and sat down on the steps behind Nasir. He ran his hand up and down my leg until he could no longer reach behind, then turned his gentle attentions to the arm I wrapped around his chest. Just feeling him against me was enough to keep me calm, to sooth some of the sting of Spartacus's words. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, trapping some of his soft hair beneath my nose and breathing him in, his very scent having an instant calming effect. This man, this fiery, kind, wise, strong, dedicated, selfless, beautiful man: how did I ever find myself so blessed as to fall into his arms, and to be permitted to hold him in mine in return?

His hand snaked up around my neck and petted my hair. "What is wrong?" he asked. Of course he could tell.

"Nothing of import," I whispered into his ear before placing a kiss there.

"You tremble like bowstring about to snap," he pressed.

"I would not trouble you with it. It is foolish matter."

"It is not foolish if it troubles you so."

"I will tell you later if you yet wish, I promise."

He nodded and laid back against my chest, pulling my arm tight around him.

We stayed out there for another hour or so, until all the meat was gone and the fire was almost out. We listened to the other Germans speak of their homes and their people, and of their own battles and accomplishments. Once more it almost felt like home, when every night we ate around the fire and spoke of the great battles of our people and those in our myths and legends.

Sedullus was of the far eastern tribes, as were Duro and I. He had been war chief of his tribe, and led his people in battles against the Cherusci, the Angrivari, the Bructeri, the Cimbri, the Marcomanni, the Alemani, and of course, the Gauls, all the major western peoples around the Rhine. He had also been master of rituals for a few seasons, his clan's history keeper, and quartermaster. Some of the other Germans had known him back home and some of them had not, but it was clear that they all held great respect for the man.

Nemetes was of the Marcomanni tribe, on the eastern end of our western lands. His clan had allied with Sedullus's tribe for several battles against the Romans, Cherusci, Alemani, and Gauls, and they knew each other well.

Lugo's situation was much like mine: he was of the eastern tribes who sometimes wandered south and mingled with the Illyrians near the coast, along the northern edge of their territory. He had battled the Romans since he was a child, as had many of his Illyrian cousins, and he claimed to have cleaved enough Roman heads to fill a longhouse to the rafters. I did not doubt him. Lugo had also fought with Sedullus in the past, as well as Nemetes, against the Romans and Gauls.

Saxa hailed from the more northern tribes, a particularly hardy and savage lot. They thrived in long, brutal winters, fought hard against each other and the land to survive, and celebrated even harder. She had been too young to be war chief of her tribe, as such is only permitted when gray hairs begin to sprout, but she was a feared and respected warrior and leader nonetheless. As all German warriors, she saw capture as the ultimate failure, and chose to keep on the Roman slave collar to remind herself (and, though she did not say this out loud, all of our kin) of her (our) shame. She and Lugo had known each other from back home, as Lugo's tribe had traded wool and dairy in exchange for thick furs and tanned hides from Saxa's people.

The moon was almost fully-risen by the time everyone retired to idle conversation.

"They should rest, they will need their strength for tomorrow," Nasir whispered, "and it would be best not to keep the rest of the camp awake."

I nodded in agreement and stood up. " _My brothers_ ," I said, " _Tomorrow we are to hunt as the sun rises. Take rest, and rejoice in waking up to freedom!_ "

The Germans cheered and laid to slumber more or less where they sat.

"Do they not want sleeping mats?" Nasir asked.

"They likely have never used them before, and have no desire. Perhaps tomorrow we will offer them. For now, however, ours calls to us."

The forest tribes east of the Rhine have always lived simply. Although some of our number had taken to living in cities and villages--particularly those traitors and cowards who dwelled near the Rhine itself, and chose to trade and coexist with the Romans across the river in Gaul--many of us still roamed the dense forests of our home with only the tree canopy to serve as a roof over our heads. During harsh winters, if we did not travel south, we would build longhouses where everyone would sleep. But when the weather was mild, we slept on the very earth, upon the grasses and underbrush of the land we so loved. We were home no matter where in the forest we roamed, always laying down in the embrace of the earth itself. As children slept beside their parents, so did everyone else sleep upon the bare ground.

Most of our German recruits appeared to be of the forest tribes, and had no expectation of or desire for Roman and Gallic comforts like sleeping mats. The ground around the temple, however, was dirt, not grass and brush. They would probably take to sleeping mats for no other reason but to keep the mud upon the ground and not traipsed through the temple itself--Camila would no doubt skin them otherwise.

Nasir and I retired to our mat upon the portico steps, where I could keep watch over my kin. I was not overly concerned about mischief, but it was best to be nearby in case any misunderstandings occurred with the other rebels.

"Now," said Nasir as we settled into each other's arms, "What is troubling you?"

I laid my forehead against his and sighed, "Spartacus is angry with me."

"For what reason?"

"The Germans...he is angry we recruited them."

"Why?" Nasir almost laughed.

"He thinks..." It pained me to even put it to words. "He thinks that I may have recruited them for my own purposes."

"What purposes?"

"He did not put his suspicions to words, but he demands that all the Germans speak common tongue if they can. 'So all among us may know their thoughts'."

"He thinks they would conspire against him?"

"I believe it so. Myself included."

"Why would he make such asinine presumption?" Nasir demanded, the insulted tone in his voice balming my wounded heart.

"I do not know. He was angry that I had not told him about the other ships."

"You did not tell him there were other ships besides that of the Germans?" he asked, taken aback.

"I did not think I needed to. He sent me to Neapolis find ships of opportunity--theirs was the only one of promise, for reasons given earlier."

"You should have given the others to him as well."

"I tried," I implored, "I tried to tell him tonight, but he would not let me finish."

"But why did you not tell him when you first returned from scouting Neapolis?"

"I did not think to! I thought he trusted me...trusted my judgment."

"But you understand why he did not, yes?"

"You share his thoughts in this?" I choked out.

"Not necessarily," he sighed, rolling his eyes, "I only want you to understand _his_ thoughts. You must understand why his trust in you is lacking, do you not?"

His words were truth and spoken with reason and genuine intent, yet they still stung. Wounded pride and lingering guilt will inflict pain regardless of truth. Or perhaps because of it.

"Because my word has lost all worth."

"Such things as trust take time to rebuild. Continue to make genuine effort and he will see your heart for what it is in time," he patted my cheek and kissed between my eyes, "Now rest, so you have strength to face new day tomorrow."

I could do nothing but nod, but it was enough. Nasir smiled and closed his eyes, asleep in moments.

But sleep would not come for me for some time, this I knew. It was not deserved, as I also knew. It cannot be overstated that every word Nasir spoke was true: I had lost Spartacus's respect and trust, and for good reason. My deceit about Naevia's fate in the mines, regardless of intent, had broken whatever form my word once held. I did not deserve his, Nasir's, or anyone else's trust, and all I could do now was make effort to recover the broken shards. I could not dispute this, nor would I attempt to. Spartacus had every right to be suspicious that I had once again withheld information from him, logically I could see this; but that did not make it any easier to bare.

**Author's Note:**

> My primary info source on Gallic and Proto-Germanic cultures was an English translation of Julius Caesar's "Gallic Wars Commentary", as well as English translations of related texts from that era and region and some very light research on archaeology from that time/place. Therefore the info I used is distorted and biased by "victor's justice" and may be totally bs, this is just what I found doing some very light research.
> 
> My depictions are not meant to 100% accurately depict any group, sub-group, tribe, clan, or lineage. I've simply taken the very cursory info I dug up and adapted it to the cultural dynamics in the show itself as I perceived them, and fleshed them out using some very basic concepts of conflict analysis and cultural anthropology from some of my classes. The things I wrote are supposed to be very vague so that they could theoretically apply to a range of sub-groups within the groups in question, but they are not based on any real sub-groups and should not be taken as historical fact or an attempt at genuine replication.
> 
> I really wish the show had delved more into the politics within the ludus and then the rebellion, rather than just the interpersonal feuds like the one between Spartacus and Crixus. Interethnic divisions were a big problem during the real Third Servile War but I don't think gets touched on enough in the show. 
> 
> I also really wish we had been able to get to know the Gauls in the same way we did the Germans, but that would've just made it harder watching things like Acer and Rhaskos's deaths. The "Vengeance" promo material made it look like the Gauls would be a big part of the story that season, but they didn't figure in very much at all, and didn't get any exploration, so perhaps I'll cook something up with them down the line.
> 
> I also REALLY wish they gave us like two or three more seasons. I don't want any new plot points, I'm fine with what we got. I just wish that the plot we were given had been unraveled more gradually--so we could see the rebel army grow in more detail, more battles and missions, and more intra-group/interethnic politics. I especially wish we had watched them plan and carry out the seizure of the mines, like maybe they could have done a shorter season like "Gods of the Arena" that just covered the taking of the mines. @Starz please hire me to write a "Spartacus" spinoff series.


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